


your hand in my hand, so still and discreet

by senseof_Hygge



Category: ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Dongmyeong is a sweet darling human, Harin is a fox spirit, Hyungu is made of stars and no one knows what his story is, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, a mild - oh so mild - smut scene, brief mentions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29382594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senseof_Hygge/pseuds/senseof_Hygge
Summary: Harin is a fox spirit with a mischievous countenance who has learned to live with loneliness and not be weighed down by it.  Then, he meets a human named Dongmyeong, and he learns how to be a lover too.
Relationships: Ju Harin/Son Dongmyeong
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	your hand in my hand, so still and discreet

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to a lot, a LOT, of hozier while i was writing this and as such, you could probably say this was inspired in part by his music? Hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> there's some talk and mention of death in here and Harin grapples with this for a while so just a heads up. I don't think it's too heavy but.. I'm not entirely sure either.

The forest is home. 

Where the trampled path bleeds into the quiet woodland, where the birds sing, where the spirits dance, it is home to many and it houses Harin. Where life ends and souls soar, especially in the dead of winter, where nothing but the wind persists. Harin settles into his den, dry and safe, and slumbers.

There is a child.

The forest is large and enigmatic, a mystery to him; he’s spent countless centuries here already but something new seems to pop up in every crevice. Just a few sunsets ago he’d met a timid giant, a lumberer with a blooming rose on the hollow of his neck, and he’d watched it bloom and twist until the moon rose high into the sky.

There is a child.

Harin loves it all the same. He thinks for as long as he’s been wandering these lands, this forest has been the kindest to him, with its sweet creeks and ragged mountains. He finds home here in a solitary sort of way; the forest shelters him more than it loves him, ambivalent but not entirely impartial. It’s the best Harin has ever been treated.

There is a child. In his home. Crying.

Harin’s eyes snap open, body moving faster than his mind does, melting out of his den and paws crunching against the bitter cold snow, running towards the sound of crying. The child sits deep in the heart of the bosk, huddled under the exposed roots of an old, decrepit tree, and his heart squeezes at the sight of it. 

When he turns back to his human form, he reaches for him, voice soothing as he can make it.

“Hey.” he whispers, then raises his voice when the child doesn’t reply, face pressed tightly into his tiny hands, “What are you doing out here?”

It startles the boy, who immediately tries to quell his heart-wrenching cries, eyes wildly darting towards him, shining with fear. Harin shakes his head placatingly at him,

“It’s okay, don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

The child’s eyes drift to his ears, bright orange and tipped with smoke, then to the sharp of his teeth, something he belatedly hides away, closing his mouth tightly.

“Mom says you’re a bad spirit.” The child finally speaks, voice soft and stuffed, shaking his head wildly. “I mustn’t go with fox spirits, for you never know what they’re up to.”

Bad fox spirits, good fox spirits, Harin knows not of them for he only knows of himself. The child’s mother must have heard these stories from a different part of the world, since he has turned the earth over in search of one like him, to no avail.

“Would you rather bear the cold on your own until day breaks?” Harin retorts. “Come here, I promise I won’t hurt you.”

The child timidly crawls out from under the gnarled roots of the feeble tree, shaking in every limb, chin tucked to his chest. Harin’s eyes soften at him, barely standing to his elbow, toes nearly blue from the biting frost. He hoists him up, burying him against his chest and pulling his long cloak over both of them. 

“What’s your name?” he asks, trudging through the new layer of snow, letting the moon light the way.

“Dongmyeong.” the child sniffles miserably and shivers uncontrollably. Harin pulls him tighter against him.

“Okay, Dongmyeong, I’ll bring you home.” Harin nods solemnly. “For I am a good fox spirit and nothing like your mom says.”

Dongmyeong giggles wetly, the sound gurgling in his chest when Harin starts the trek back to the outskirts of the forest, trees melting away until the town is in sight. He dare not go further for fear of being caught by wayward eyes.

Dongmyeong doesn’t say why he’s been in the forest, Harin doesn’t ask. He leads him by the hand, palms warm and soft, to the outskirts of the city. Harin nudges him gently with a hand on his back, pushing him forward on his thin legs,

“Go on then, little one,” he says, “and don’t look back.”

“Wait!” Dongmyeong whispers frantically, pulling on his clothes, “How will I find you?”

“Just call my name,” He crouches down until he’s eye level, stroking a hand through Dongmyeong’s soft hair, dark as night, watching the dimple on his face deepening, “Harin. I’ll be there whenever you call.”

Except that Dongmyeong doesn’t call. Winter is cold and biting, made even more bitter when Harin passes his days in idle, squirreling away into his den with silence ringing in his ears every night. He’s not disappointed, doesn’t think he has ever known such a thing in his life, yet... he is hollow.

He tells Hyungu as much when he creeps into his home one day, something he’s admonished for with no heat behind his words. Harin can’t help that he treads lightly; he is a fox, afterall.

“Humans don’t travel this far out in the winter.” Hyungu says, skin glowing like the edges of the moon on a foggy night. 

“I don’t understand humans.” Harin huffs, sneaking an apple out of his fruit bowl, biting into it as he speaks. “Winter is no different than other seasons, just that prey is more scarce to come by.”

“Humans don’t grow a winter coat like you do, fox.” 

Hyungu clicks his tongue at him, bright starlight eyes glowing white at him, though his smile is fond, as if staring at a fish mindlessly trying to break through the first layer of ice in autumn. Harin supposes that’s what he is to him. His hair is a mass of comets today, arcing across his head when he reaches for the half-eaten apple in Harin’s hand, finishing it off.

“The child will come soon enough.” Hyungu promises. “Your fates are already tangled.”

In spring, when the winds yield to him and the trees bloom anew, Dongmyeong comes to him in a hurry, breathlessly shouting his name as soon as the moss yields under his feet, carrying him further into the belly of the forest. Harin finds him in a small field, sitting by the lake and looking far less gaunt than the last time he’d seen him.

“Little one.” He says, eyeing the trussed up chicken laying by his feet. Dongmyeong smiles, dimple deep and cute, as he presses it into his hands.

“For you.” Dongmyeong offers sweetly, teeth flashing in a show of sincerity, eyes curving like the moon. “For saving my life. I’ve told my dad about you, he says you may well be my guardian spirit, since most children who wander don’t ever come back.”

The poor souls who don’t tread back are spirited away by other beasts. Harin sees them, leading childrens’ spirits away from their corporeal shells, hides deep in the bosk when bears, cougars, predators pass by with the wisps of their prey clenched in their hands. Spirits devour everything, such is the will of the woods, though he tames his tongue from speaking so forthright of it. Dongmyeong is still young, he need not listen to the horrors of the world, let him believe his guardian spirit cannot be bested for just a while longer.

“And your guardian spirit only gets one chicken?” Harin teases, taking his dinner into his hands. Dongmyeong shamefully looks away, toes digging into the soil.

“It’s the fattest one we have.”

“...Here, take it back.” Harin stuffs the chicken back into his little hands, patting him on the head. “I don’t need the food, I can hunt my own dinner.”

“But-”

“I’ll still be your guardian spirit though.” Harin hurriedly soothes, voice softening at the crestfallen look on his face.

The look only lasts for a moment before Dongmyeong perks up again, his smile growing evermore at his words, tugging on his clothes. Harin lets him, looks down at his baby face and twinkling eyes, and decides he will, in fact, protect him from the terrors of the forest for as long as he can.

“Can you stay with me a little longer?” He asks softly. Harin decides yes, he will.

-

Dongmyeong seemingly calls his name at every whim, eyes bright when Harin rustles across the field to meet him in his fox form, never hurt, always happy. 

At first… at first, Harin thinks the worst, fears that somehow the little one has been spirited away by some bear spirit, some feral bobcat, something he has no hope of winning against, heart thumping a wretched song against his ribcage when he tears through the woods. When he finds Dongmyeong sitting on the low branch of his favourite tree, swinging his feet idly, he feels nothing but relief, calm breaking over him like a waterfall.

Dongmyeong fawns over him, running his hands through his bushy tail as if combing it, chasing after it when Harin sways it around, resembling a kit. Hyungu tells him about kits all the time, something wistful and desolate, the galaxy swirling in what should be the white of his eyes. His tongue stroking over unfamiliar words like family, mates, kits. He has a soft, quiet disposition to him when he speaks, something Harin seldom sees when he visits, left in favour of snide jests and comfortable snark. 

He thinks perhaps… once upon a time, when the world was young and life wasn’t desolate, Hyungu may have had a fox for a lover. Perhaps, too, Hyungu has had kits of his own. It’s something he entertains when he sits between day and night, staring at Hyungu who chooses his own isolation and wondering why he does it.

Harin hasn’t ever seen a kit with his own eyes before and he thinks this might be as close to one as he will get; he is the last of his kind in these parts of the world and he plans to keep it that way.

“What a wonderful tail you have.” Dongmyeong whispers, rubbing his cheeks against the fur, eyes slipping closed.

Harin counts his lashes, that thick cluster that he loses track of so easily, settling instead for pinching his chubby cheeks.

“What a glib tongue you have.”

“I mean it.” Dongmyeong insists. “I’ve never seen a tail like yours before.”

“Because you’ve never met anything like me before, little one.” Harin can’t help but laugh, ruffling his hair, watching him huff.

“That… may be true,” Dongmyeong relents before his eyes curve into that familiar smile, “but I mean it.”

“Very well, I will graciously accept this compliment.” Harin puffs his chest out and tips his chin up in a rare show of vanity, one part jesting, two parts not.

“I should like to be a fox with a lovely tail as well.” he sighs wistfully, hands gently petting the fur of the tail, “I think it would be sublime.”

Harin entertains the thought for a split second, then perishes it.

-

When the bones of winter settle into the streams of spring, Dongmyeong finds him again, running across the field he's long come to know and throwing himself into his arms. Harin spins him around, laugh ringing raucously when he looks upon the planes of his sweet, sweet face. Like a budding rose, Dongmyeong's features have seemingly opened up over the season, blooming into something sublime, something beautiful, something deific.

“Harin!” He giggles. “I missed you so much!” 

The soft of his voice has long given way to something more mature and Harin feels his ears warming at the sound. Dongmyeong loops his arms around his neck with practiced ease and squeezes to his space. Harin hugs him back just as hard, relishing in the weight of him in his arms, the smell of his skin tangling with sunlight.

“We’ve hardly been separated long.” Harin says, though he squeezes him to his chest all the same, lips pressing against the crown of his head. 

“It’s been months.” Dongmyeong gripes, throwing his head back in a laugh, the line of his neck tanned and strong.

Harin has no idea what a month is. He doesn’t think of time if he can help it; it sits foreign on his tongue, heavy with some strange implication of what it does to the world around him. Time wilts the grass that yields to him, time squanders away the sun’s shine every winter, time raises the trees he’s known as seedlings into generous homes. Time has grown Dongmyeong into an adult by human standards.

He supposes then, _months_ might be a long time to Dongmyeong, just as a life cycle might be to him.

“Has it now?” Harin pulls them to sit on the roots of a felled tree, letting Dongmyeong run his hands through his soft tail the way he’s always done. “Well, I missed you too, little one.”

Dongmyeong smiles at him, still looking up at him even as he’s grown bigger, taller, _prettier_ , he still stands shorter than Harin. There is a bounce to his hair, to his gaze, to the curve of his feet, everything seems alight when cast upon his body. With what, Harin cannot begin to guess, supposes it might have something to do with the fires of youth.

Dongmyeong offers him an apple, bright red and glistening, and bites into it before Harin can even reach for it. His hand hovers in the air, stunned by his cheek, before he laughs at Dongmyeong.

“Bring more next time.” Harin chides, biting into the apple once it’s been relinquished to him. “How else will I get my energy to protect you?” 

His teeth catch on the crisp skin, eyes never straying from Dongmyeong, who looks back at him. 

“I’ve spent years in this field with you and no trouble has ever presented itself even if I’d gone looking for it.” He laughs, eyes crinkling sweetly, the dimple on his cheek deep and profound. “One apple is enough payment.”

“Brat.”

-

“My brother got married over the winter.”

The wind has softened by now, with trees budding anew and buds springing to life through the ground. Harin pauses, looking over to Dongmyeong who has forgone his slippers and dipped his toes into their lake, breaking the still that has settled over it. The sky is clear of any clouds, standing full and blue against Dongmyeong’s back, who is bluer than he’s ever seen him.

“Did he now?”

“Yes, he and his spouse moved to a newer, smaller home.” Dongmyeong nods, and in the dark of his eyes, something softens, something bends, something breaks.

“I see.” Harin takes his hand in his, thumb stroking over his calloused palms.

“It’s… quiet, without him around.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Terribly so... Do you have any kin?”

When Harin thinks of kin, if he ever does, he thinks of the only other being in existence he has spoken to. He thinks of Hyungu’s tender smile and forlorn gaze, his small home and his cold, lonely fireplace. Harin has nothing else to go on, his existence to date has been spent in isolation that he never asked for, staying far away from other spirits and humans alike.

Harin supposes he doesn’t really know what it’s like to be kindred with anything except the swirling sky, the mossy ground, the endless loop of life. Why, when he’d come to be, he was already on his own.

“I have you, little one.” he settles on in the end. Dongmyeong need not know just how intimately he’s known loneliness.

“Little one?” Dongmyeong parrots, raising an eyebrow. He shakes his head at Harin, almost in disbelief. “I’m 20, by human standards, I’ve been an adult for two years now.”

When Harin found him, he’d been a slight boy with a reddened nose and baby fat, short and cute. Who could have guessed that in the blink of an eye, ten winters had already passed, and with it, the fleeting growth of Dongmyeong’s youth.

"... So it's already been 10 years, huh?"

"Mn." Dongmyeong nods, kicking his feet in the water. "It might not have been long for you but… I couldn't wait to grow up."

"Oh?"

Harin's eyes stay fixed on the tips of his toes, the slight twitch of them under the spring water, watches as Dongmyeong curls his toes in embarrassment.

“Yeah. So… so, don’t call me little one anymore, okay?”

“Okay.” Harin acquiesces with a sly grin, “What should I call you then?”

“Just Dongmyeong.” he says after a while. 

Harin can see hesitance clenched between the spaces of his teeth, as if holding back words he’s not meant to say, as if not sure if he can even say them. He listens to Dongmyeong hum a tune and says nothing.

They sit together, hand in hand, until the sun sets beneath the treeline.

-

In summer, Dongmyeong outshines everything, can rival the strength of the sun in just the curve of his smile alone. He spends more time in the forest than in his town, calling for Harin long before he’s ever made it to their usual meeting place. Harin comes, he always does; long gone is the fear that Dongmyeong has stumbled upon misfortune, he comes because…

Well.

He isn’t entirely sure why he comes. Harin supposes he might be lonely, having spent so long chasing pheasants on his own, seeking the company of not-quite-spirit-not-quite-anything-real that is Hyungu. 

There’s something that has settled between them these days, stifling and foreign, though it strays far from enmity. Instead, it’s impish, this sort of tension that finds itself in the glint of Dongmyeong’s eyes when Harin teases him, the flirtatious way he pushes at him, the way Harin skitters off and he gives chase. It’s thrilling, listening to the thud of his own footfalls, breath labouring out of his body, ears twitching at every movement behind him. Dongmyeong chases him, always chases after him, though his fingers never catch on the swath of his robes, even when Harin slows.

This game that they play isn’t dangerous by any means but it teeters on the edge of… _something_ he can’t hope to name. He doesn’t think he wants to name it just yet, instead focusing on drawing to a sudden stop and letting Dongmyeong fall into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground, laughter ringing in his ears.

Harin lets him play with his ears, nearly purring with pleasure, eyes slipping closed and losing himself in the feel of those darling fingers stroking him. He loves it like this, can spend hours on end laying against Dongmyeong’s chest, listening to the beat of his heart, smelling the sun on his clothes, feeling the heat of his skin.

Dongmyeong is a kind balm against the biting, bitter loneliness that settles in him when he least expects it. Like a flame chasing away darkness at every turn, and like a moth, Harin follows in turn. He doesn’t call it love; he doesn’t know what love is and only a fool would hope to put a name to something he doesn’t know but.

But Dongmyeong kisses him softly once, hands fisting in the lapels of his robe and something shifts, changes, balances. Harin’s hands rest on the delicate bones of his hips, and he sinks into it like a relieved sigh, kissing him back just as gently.

“I love you.” Dongmyeong whispers against his lips.

Harin’s heart weeps at the confession, overflowing with delight and reveling in the soft honey of his voice, the tips of his quivering lashes, the tremble of his lips. His kisses Dongmyeong, can’t help the budding smile that blooms on his face until it aches, kissing him again and again and again.

“I love you too.”

This, he thinks, must be what love is.

-

In the fall, Harin settles a little, feeling his fur grow a little thicker, a little denser, a little softer. The birds begin their migration soon, as most creatures do before winter brings with her a blanket of snow and stillness. Not much changes for him, except that once snow falls, so too does his time with Dongmyeong, hidden away in the village for months on end. At the beginning it had felt like no time at all, for what was a single drop of water worth to the broad lake? Yet the orange tinged life around him brings with it an inexplicable sorrow that he can’t seem to shake off.

Harin thinks he might miss him terribly this coming winter.

Dongmyeong looks absolutely despondent when he calls for him this time, eyes damp and glassy, sorrow steeped in every line of his body. Harin is quick to gather his darling into his arms, kissing him softly, hoping wistfully to kiss away his melancholy too.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. 

The breeze picks up with their conversation, blowing far colder than the kindness of summer’s warmth, brushing through their hair. Dongmyeong doesn’t speak, in a mood of sorts that warrants patience and gentleness, something Harin will give him in spades. They venture far into the bosk, listening to the sounds of it alight with life around them, leaves crunching under their feet, yielding life to them. It’s a while longer before his darling speaks.

“Time is as straight as a tree grows.” Dongmyeong says listlessly. “By the time you know it, everything has changed, we can no longer go back to the way it was.”

“Not at all.” Harin replies. He picks up a pine cone and presses it into Dongmyeong’s hand, closing his fingers around it. “Time is as cyclic as the seasons. When the tree grows, it will drop its seed, and younglings will grow. The death of one tree doesn’t spell the end of the forest.”

He means it. Harin doesn’t see time the same humans do, has no idea why humans are so fixated on time, on linearity, on growing. Today is the same as yesterday is the same as tomorrow; Harin will nuzzle into a patch of grass and bask in the sun, he will chase away squirrels and he will come when Dongmyeong calls. 

“Doesn’t it? I must marry someone soon. I will have to leave you and I will never see you again. Tell me, does that seem cyclic to you?”

“...No.” Harin agrees after a short pause. “Why must you marry, anyhow?”

“Why indeed…” Dongmyeong giggles, though his words are forlorn, tipping into despair. 

“Just run away if you don’t like it.” Harin strokes his darling’s cheek with the back of his hand, delighting in the way he leans into it. “Come live with me, I can take care of you.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Why isn’t it?” Harin asks. He reaches for Dongmyeong’s hands, his palms are broader now, tanned and pretty and Harin realizes perhaps a lot of time really _has_ passed.

“Because- I- because I’m a human,” Dongmyeong huffs, “life would be so much easier if I were a fox like you.”

Harin is taken, suddenly, by a vision of Dongmyeong barefoot in his den, snuggled close to him in his nest. Time can pass by inconsequential to them, he thinks, let them take their time to know these woods all over again. Hand in hand he sees them, under the swirling skies that glow between the changing of the seasons, happy and carefree. Harin greedily drinks in the phantom sight of them together, growing old over the centuries, never to part.

“Then become a fox. Stay with me.”

“Do you know how to turn me into a fox?” Dongmyeong laughs, entertaining his request. His eyes shine with a hopefulness he dare not speak, sorrow lining the curve of his lips.

“No,” Harin stills, swallowing down a phantom bile that rests not in his throat, but his heart, “but I know someone who might.”

-

Hyungu, he knows, has seen the world when it was a seed, far before it had taken root and sprouted into a sapling. He’s far lonelier than Harin is, possibly the loneliest being in existence. With it, though, comes a wisdom unparalleled; his knowledge rivals the depth of the universe with how much he’s come to know. It only makes sense that Harin comes to him with these questions.

Hyungu brews them tea when they visit him, hands clasped nervously together, sitting pressed together on the seats across from him. He finds them amusing, says as much when he offers them two cups and listens to the reason for their visit. Harin gulps the tea down by the mouthful, drowning their soft conversation out with the sound of his raucous gulping, leg bouncing with nervous energy. It tastes rancid on his tongue, as if the leaves have gone off by the time they’ve made it to his cup, though surely Hyungu wouldn’t do such a thing.

Dongmyeong recounts everything, perhaps a little too in depth, going into detail about how he’s come to know love by his name, the divinity found between space of his brows, the sharp of his teeth, the clench of his jaw. He wishes to follow in form, he says with conviction, for nothing would bring him more joy than to spend his life with Harin.

When he’s finished, Hyungu sits in silence for a long, long while. The rise of his chest is even, and the tips of his lashes, coated in stardust, flutter and flicker, deep in thought. His nails drum against the table, a nervousness set across his opaque features in a way Harin has never seen before, as if worried that even the slightest inflection of his words might break them.

“It is not impossible, just that…'' Hyungu pauses, stars flickering in his eyes, the curve of his brows drawing together, “for the soul to endure, the body must perish. If you wish to become a fox spirit, you must be reborn into it, the cycle must start anew.”

“I’ll do it.” Dongmyeong says without hesitation. 

The dark of his eyes are set in determination, brows drawn together, courage lining the pink of his lips. Harin has not known love so fiercely, has not grappled with guilt so quickly before him. Hyungu must know this too, for his eyes soften a notch, the fret between his brows lightens to just the phantom of concern. He takes a sip of his tea, wetting his lips before he speaks again.

“There is an underground cave past the mountain range, where you walk until you can no longer walk, that blends itself between illusion and reality. A still lake rests there and… at the bottom, with the silt and sand, is a moonstone. It is small, smaller than your thumb, but if ingested, can trap the soul and reincarnate it as whatever the heart desires.”

“Why does such a thing exist?” Dongmyeong asks softly. Beside him, his cup of tea smolders, steam curling around him. Harin watches the distortion of his image as Hyungu presses on.

“Legend has it… there was once a man who was in love with an immortal being. For his chance to gain a divine finger, he began cultivating in that lake at the bottom of the cave, trying to be with his lover for the rest of eternity.”

“Why is the stone still there, then?”

Hyungu smiles slowly, stardust rimming his eyes when he looks at them, bitterness and sorrow dripping from his teeth.

“Because a human’s life is as fleeting as a breath; the mortal grew ill and passed away, his death left the immortal so bereft, the heavens opened up and granted him this moonstone as a token of their love.”

“Why does it remain there? And not with the immortal?” Dongmyeong pesters, seemingly more invested in the story than the actual stone itself.

“Who knows?” Hyungu laughs, though his voice is quiet and tight, a subtle change Harin may have missed if he were anyone else. “Like I said, it’s nothing but a legend.”

Hyungu doesn’t say anything more and Harin doesn’t ask. His hand stills over Dongmyeong’s thigh under the table, squeezing his knee, a silent beg for him to cease. He does, though the draw of his brows gives away his concern.

Legend may not truly be legend, if the look on Hyungu’s deific face is anything to go by. 

Harin doesn’t ask; their relationship has never come to the point where Hyungu tells him of his past before they met and he doesn’t press for it. Instead, they have filled their days with idle laughter, comfortable even when their personalities clash. He begins to regret not deepening their relationship any further, even after turning over centuries together, the gap between them never widens, never closes.

Especially with Dongmyeong present, it’s hard to bring it up the way he might if they were alone. If the distance between them is like a chasm in the plains, the space between Hyungu and Dongmyeong is ever worse than that. The human has been alive for barely more than 20 winters, a speck of time in Hyungu’s cup; he’d barely heard of the child until roughly 10 winters ago. This is not the place nor time to pester Hyungu about it.

Maybe one of these days, when the weather settles, when the earth beneath them yields, when the breeze softens, Harin will take him away from this wretched place he calls a home for a little while. What grievances must the world’s oldest soul house? If Hyungu talks, he will listen.

Harin thinks perhaps, more than likely, almost surely that Hyungu speaks of himself when he speaks of the legend but he does not dwell on it. He cannot dwell on it.

The truth isn’t Harin’s to tell, he knows; even the story itself seems like it should not be his to hear. Still, he listens, internalizing every word; they sit in the pit of his stomach and brew inexplicable feelings that rise up through his throat. 

“How will we know what it looks like?” Harin asks instead.

“You will know it.” Hyungu says no more, eyeing the empty cup of tea clenched in Harin’s hand. 

Dongmyeong nods in understanding, and Harin’s hold on him tightens, heart lurching at the sight of him.

“Something so powerful...” Harin thinks, “surely it must have been found already, sitting out in the open like that, not even locked away.”

“Mn, others have asked about it.”

“Can you tell us who?”

“No.” Hyungu shakes his head and his eyes look past them, somewhere far away. “It is not my secret to tell.”

Each strand of starlight caught between the blades of his hair, twinkling blue, white, purple, flicker as he turns his gaze back to them, the implications heavy. The constellation that dances across his cheeks break apart and remake themselves in an endless dance. Harin thinks him hauntingly beautiful; far more terrifying than the end of the world, even. Hyungu offers them a cryptic smile, something tangled between pity and reverence.

"We understand." Dongmyeong says, drawing Harin's attention back to him.

Except.

Except that Harin doesn’t understand. When Hyungu ushers them out the door, his toes still over the threshold, before he reaches for Harin’s hand and squeezes it. He smiles at them both, thumb pressing into the meat of his palm until heat travels all the way up his arm, spreading across his chest and flushing through the rest of his body. It’s not until Harin starts feeling faint that Hyungu lets go of him, stepping away from them and nodding, as if saying bidding them a permanent farewell.

“I wish you two the best.”

His words send shivers down his spine and for one horrifying second, Harin thinks perhaps this is the last he’ll see of Hyungu. When the sun crests upon a new day, there may not yet be a body left to return to, be it his or Harin’s. It leaves him confused, heart clenching when the door shuts in their face and Dongmyeong reaches for his hand, unable to shake the feeling away from it.

It’s not until he’s walked Dongmyeong to the edge of the forest that he understands that he’s shaking with guilt. Harin watches his fading back for a long time, even when Dongmyeong is long gone, back in his quaint town. When the sun sets, he sees his silhouette; a prideful, youthful little thing willing to give everything up for him.

Spirits seldom understand the fragility of human nature. They know not what humans are like, not those trilling spirits who flit through the forest ignoring friend and foe alike, not those spirit beasts who pluck children from their homes at will, not even the condensed galaxy of a soul set inside of Hyungu.

He knows nothing of being human despite knowing them since the dawn of time. Hyungu has seen them grow and live, of course, but what does he know of being human? For as long as Harin has known him, he’s remained impartial to everything, barely involved in the comings and goings of the forest that houses his own body. 

Harin, however. Harin has watched Dongmyeong grow up from a snot-nosed baby with chubby cheeks and clear eyes to a bright beautiful man. He’s listened to his stories over the springs, the summers, the falls. When winter comes and goes, it brings with it the delicate arch of Dongmyeong’s pink feet and his sweet, glib tongue. He throws himself into Harin’s embrace easily, talking about his life outside of their little bubble, things he doesn’t understand but anything that flows from Dongmyeong’s mouth is gospel anyhow.

He’s seen humanity in one Son Dongmyeong, the ups and downs of their short lives, the significance of being alive and feeling alive. Harin knows what it means for humans to have a youth, to spend their life - a speck of time in his eyes, by his standards - finding meaning in being intrinsically _human_. 

The price to be with harin is the fact that he’s giving up his life, throwing away his body, his youth, his future. It’s not what Dongmyeong deserves. To gain a love is to give up a friend. How is that fair?

-

They don’t take off right away. Harin leads him into his den first, hand in hand, and he’s viciously keyed up in an indescribable way when they come to a stop at the opening. It’s not for fear of never returning that terrifies him, it’s that perhaps… perhaps he will come home empty-handed that has Harin anxious. Dongmyeong rests his forehead against the back of his neck, pressing his lips to his robes, light like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing. 

Harin pulls him inside.

Their coupling isn’t fierce the way Harin had imagined it would be. With the charged, heated energy between them lately, the confessions, the admissions, he had thought it would be unbridled, wild, shaken with desire. Instead, their lips touch in a soft exhale and his heart opens up under Dongmyeong’s hands.

Harin sinks down onto his cock, slowly, slowly, slowly. Their hands lace together in a tight grip; he swallows down Dongmyeong’s whimpers with his tongue, riding him until his thighs shake, quiver, and tremble. It’s euphoric, unlike anything he has ever experienced before, spirit singing everytime Dongmyeong’s hands map across his skin as if drawing stars in the sky.

When Dongmyeong cums, he shudders through it, eyelashes fluttering and lip quivering at the feeling, loose-lipped and slack-jawed; Harin rides him through it with fervor, eyes set upon the divine lines of his darling’s face. Divinity is nameless if it will not follow in Dongmyeong’s likeness.

They rest for a while, wrapped around each other, feeling their hearts beating together like one soul in two bodies. Harin breathes him in, nose pressed deep into the crook of his neck, content to just lay like this for hours on end if asked.

“Take me apart.” Dongmyeong whimpers against him, rutting gently against his leg.

Harin listens to him, spreading his thin legs apart and settling between them, pressing into the tightness of his hole. He basks in the warmth of Dongmyeong’s thighs, clenching around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back.

“Let me remember you.” Harin gasps against his lips, kissing him softly, “Let me remember everything about you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Dongmyeong pants, pulling him further into his heat, sending liquid fire through his veins.

Harin doesn’t say anything more, terrified of his own thoughts, squeezing him tightly, tight tight _tight_. His shaking hands map across Dongmyeong’s skin, taut and beautiful, over the defined lines of his muscles and feels them spasming under his palms when he cums again. 

He must remember this for the rest of his life for foxes like him only love once.

-

Hand in hand they go, as they always do, through the belly of the forest. The morning brings with it a damp fog that settles almost like frost on leaves and Harin leads them through crooked trees and dampened peat.

“I’ve never been this far into the woods before.” 

“I’d hoped you never would, Dongmyeong.”

“Why?”

“Because…” he pauses, squeezing Dongmyeong’s hand, “The forest is not unkind but it is not benevolent either. There are many things I can’t protect you from, especially this deep into its belly.”

“Oh.” Dongmyeong says simply. His eyes are downcast for a split second before he casts Harin a blinding smile, shaking his head, hair fluttering around the soft curve of his ears. “That’s no matter. If you are the last thing I see, I would not complain.”

“Don’t say that.” Harin admonishes in horror. His hold on Dongmyeong’s hand tightens impossibly more, stilling in his step as he pulls him to his body. “Don’t you ever say that.”

He cups his face and looks upon the soft lines of his cheeks, the curve of his brows, the youthfulness of his countenance. Harin’s heart aches again, pained in a way he’s never felt before, locked between guilt and despair, wretchedly happy even as he frowns.

“But I mean it.” Dongmyeong replies with conviction. 

His brows are drawn together and Harin presses his lips to the soft skin between them, squeezing his eyes shut. Of course he means it. Harin feels the same way; knows that when the world shudders its last breath and takes him with it, the last thing he’ll see before he closes his eyes will be his darling’s silhouette. Even behind the lids of his eyes, when the world around him darkens so, will be imprinted with his smile.

“I…” Harin pauses, for what can he say? “Don’t be foolish. I won’t let you be bested in this forest for as long as I breathe.” he settles on instead.

He says nothing of how his feelings mirror Dongyeong’s, and Dongmyeong doesn’t press him for deep down, they’re both aware of it.

Harin looks up at the sky, watching it swirling solemnly as if spelling a death sentence, clouds heavy and full. It will be winter soon, his tail will grow thicker and so will the fur on his ears; when snow blankets the world, it will also cover the trail that connects him and Dongmyeong, spirit from human.

He’s not sure if they will survive this winter, if they will make it out of here with what they’re in search of, if they’ll perish before that. Even if they do find it, Harin thinks, their time together as fox and man are numbered. At best… at best, Dongmyeong would only make it through the winter before the entirety of his soul was tapered away to the new body. Truly, they look in the face of death.

He sways in limbo, halfway between hopeful and not daring to dream. Yet, the image of Dongmyeong as his fated one assaults him whenever he closes his eyes. Perhaps he will have a tawny tail, different from Harin’s vibrant orange the colour of autumn leaves, though his ears will be tipped black all the same.

Just as soon as he conjures the image, it disintegrates. Harin doesn’t deserve to think about it.

Instead, he’s wrought with terror when he thinks of the coming months that will take Dongmyeong away from him. The slow draw of his soul away from his body, the drain of life from his eyes, the loss of energy from his fingertips. He’ll do it in the name of love, Harin knows - he would do the same, of course he would- but… How is this fair?

-

It’s not that the trip is simply long or taxing on their bodies, it’s that the deeper they go, the more foreign everything seems. The bosk around them bends and weaves, moving in the absence of wind, creaking as if speaking in eldritch tongues. Harin’s feet ache, can already feel his muscles growing weary even if they’ve barely spent the better part of the morning walking. Time is inconsequential to the lawless lands of the woods, bending to its will, blending day with night and night with day. By the time they’ve realized it, days have flown past them, as if chasing after something about to disappear.

The air is heavier too, laying thick against his tongue, weighing on his chest as he weaves through the moss. Dongmyeong remains steadfast beside him, a little unsteady as they venture deeper and deeper, breath short and laboured. So far, nothing has disturbed them. It delights Dongmyeong; it horrifies Harin.

He has known noise for as long as he’s existed. From the bubbling of the creeks to the singing of the birds, even the ground is alight with life. Here, everything is silent; everything lays dead under the canopy of the leaves.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m terribly weary.” Dongmyeong answers honestly. “You?”

More than his body feeling weighed down, his heart feels as though it’s been bogged down by the weight of the world, heavy and despondent.

“I’m all right.” Harin shakes his head, before kneeling down in front of him. “Get on, I’ll carry you.”

Dongmyeong looks giddy, even as his face is shadowed in sweat, clambering onto his back and swinging his arms around his neck. Harin carries him on his back easily, for his lover is slight and small, settling into silence as he treads further through the woods.

“I haven’t been carried like this for a long time.” Dongmyeong whispers softly after a while, breath fanning against the shell of his ear, sending a tremor down his back.

“Well,” Harin drawls, tightening his hold, “I’ll make sure to carry you whenever you want.”

Dongmyeong nuzzles against the back of his neck, pressing kisses to his skin that are equal parts endearing and distracting, laughter rumbling against him. He squeezes his arms around Harin, something akin to a hug, deigning to let go.

“You’ll have all of eternity to carry me, don’t you go back on your words!”

“No, love, never.” Harin chuckles.

“Good.” Dongmyeong hums sweetly, planting a kiss just under his ear.

“Who knows, maybe after a few hundred years you’ll grow tired of me, and won’t even want me to carry you anymore.” Harin jests. 

His heart aches at his own joke he’s made; the thought of Dongmyeong giving up everything just to be with him is agonizing enough, what would he do if they ever fall out of love? Harin knows he will only ever love once. Dongmyeong’s hold on him tightens, somewhat wilful as he digs his nails into his robes, gasping.

“No, love!” He speaks passionately. “ _Never_.”

-

It’s both a dreadful and exuberant thing when they breach the mouth of the cave and walk blindly into the depths of it, relying on nothing but Harin’s senses to lead the way, breaking finally into light where a small, unassuming lake sits. Eclipsed on every side by cave walls, with only a flicker of light trailing in from above them, it can be no other than the one they have been in search of. It’s surface shimmers with stillness

Harin feels nothing.

The lake is devoid of anything notable, Harin can already tell, gutted before they’d come here, left with nothing but silt. Still, he clamps his mouth shut when Dongmyeong clambers off his back, already wading into the lake, slippers thrown away. Harin follows in after him, shedding his cloak and rolling up his trousers before he slips his feet under the surface of the lake, feels the cold biting into his skin the moment he does so.

“Hurry up, Harin!” Dongmyeong calls. There’s no angry heat behind his sweet voice, only unbridled excitement and cinched nerves.

“I’m going as fast as I can, love.” Harin replies, digging his toes into the silt feeling it building under his nails. 

He combs part of the lake on his own, listening to Dongmyeong’s breath puffing, slowly growing frantic as time passes. Harin doesn’t keep track of time, isn’t sure of how much time has come to pass , until he casts a glance and Dongmyeong and sees the hint of a frown on his face. When Harin wades over, he sees that the tips of his fingers have wrinkled from the water, body trembling slightly from the cold.

“Darling.” Harin says, pulling Dongmyeong into his arms. “Maybe you should stop for a while.” There’s a bit of resistance, of reluctance, in Dongmyeong’s movements when he tries to pull away.

"I can still keep looking." Dongmyeong whispers, teeth chattering and eyes listlessly darting back to the lake. "It has to be here. It _has_ to be."

Harin carries him to the lake's edge, covering him with his cloak, and soothingly rubbing his head.

"You're only human, how can I bear to watch you do this? Take a break and warm yourself up, I'll go look."

“How could _I_ bear to watch you do this?” he responds between chattering teeth. 

He draws the cloak tighter around his body, squirming around as if trying to speed up his warming process. Harin watches him for a quick moment, heart lurching against his ribcage at the sight of him, so young, so heartfelt.

“Lover, be good.” he admonishes and Dongmeong settles almost immediately.

Harin combs the lake again; it’s small and in a rough circular shape, about as deep as his navel in the middle, it’s not difficult to dredge the bottom on his own. He already knows that it’s not there - nothing is in this silted lake - but still. It’s not enough for him to feel it, if there’s even a shadow of a hope that he can find it, he will turn this lake over until he does.

He combs it again.

And again.

And again.

With a heavy heart, he wades back to the edge of the lake where Dongmyeong watches him with bated breath, eyes falling on Harin’s empty hands.

“It’s not here.” Harin murmurs. His eyes sting, clenching his jaw when he shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

Harin has seen Dongmyeong cry before. He doesn’t cry easily but he also doesn’t shy away from it when he needs to. At most, it had always been because of some scraped injury, some death in the extended family, some sense of loss only humans feel. This, however, is a sort of weeping that transcends them both. 

More than just fox and human, it throbs painfully in his soul, grieving and wailing so hard he can’t seem to draw a single breath in. Harin cries too, nose stinging and chest shuddering as he pulls Dongmyeong to his chest, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry.” he speaks against his hair, fingers trembling when he grips the cloak around him.

“I’m sorry too...” Dongmyeong replies with a shaky exhale. “I’m so sorry.”

How stupid they were to come here, Harin thinks forlornly, hinging everything on finding one little stone. It’s gone now, and with it, their dreams also dissipate like frost under the sun, shriveling until not even a shadow remains.

He’s not sure who weeps more, hearts steeped in sorrow, voices cracking like thunder before lightning strikes, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

They trudge back empty-handed, though hand in hand.

-

The walk back to their part of the woods is despondent, silence cut with their sharp cries and desolate kisses, Dongmyeong pressing into his space as if trying to remember him for the rest of his short, human life. Harin breathes him in in kind, trying to remember the smell of his hair and skin, resolute on never forgetting the smooth of his skin.

They’d both come out of the cave inconsolable, nursing their own wounds and trying to heal the other. But there is no immediate cure for heartache. When their feet cross the threshold between Harin’s forest and Dongmyeong’s town, they will part forever.

They stop just long enough to build a fire before night falls upon them, draping along their shoulders like another robe, huddled close for warmth. Harin lets his little lover cuddle into his space, reluctant to part for even a sliver of a moment.

“It’s tiring, isn’t it?” Dongmyeong asks idly, voice hoarse from crying, from the weight of the world crushing on him. “When I’m reborn I will become a tree.”

They’d long grown tired of crying, have since cried their body dry of any tears, left with something bitter and broken inside of them. This might be what heartbreak feels like, though Harin doesn’t dwell on it, he’ll have his whole existence to do so in the end.

“A tree, huh?” Harin hums fondly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, feeling his soft hairs fluttering when he nods.

“Wouldn’t that be grand? To take root in soil and grow up big and strong. I’d bask in the sun all day and I’d house any who seek shelter.”

“That does sound nice.”

“What would you like to be when you’re reborn?”

Harin thinks for a while, tucking Dongmyeong under his chin, watching the embers flicker something sharp and bright, warming in the dead of night. Up above, the sky is still, the moon hangs over them like a lantern lighting up a darkened path. Dongmyeong’s hair smells like smoke, dark and humbling and all-consuming.

“I should like to be a shrike.” Harin replies softly.

“A shrike?”

“Yes. And see the skies and oceans and when the time comes to come home I would come back to you and tell you all about it.”

Dongmyeong looks at him, skin cast ever bronze by the firelight, face muddied and tear tracks evident on the highs of his cheek. When he smiles, Harin tips further into love, leaning in to kiss him gently on the nose.

“I will wait for you. Always. You shall be my favourite shrike.”

“Must I be a shrike to be your favourite?” He jests, kissing his cheeks. Dongmyeong shakes his head wildly, laughter ringing like bells, clear and crisp.

“No.” he says with conviction. “You are my favourite no matter what form you take.”

“Even as a human?”

The question draws a pregnant pause from him, has seemingly set frost upon his features, freezing him in place. Dongmyeong’s mouth is parted, eyes dark and lashes quivering, the corner of his lips hooking nervously, hopefully, into a crescent-like smile.

“What do you mean by that? Harin… what do you mean by this?”

Dongmyeong reaches for his hand, squeezing his fingers until they no doubt pink, hiding the tremors of his own palm. Even under the soft glow of the moon’s light, eclipsed by the smouldering fire, Dongmyeong shines brightest, eyes nearly aglow with hope. Harin tips into his space, resting their foreheads together, and feels the slightest shiver there too.

“I mean…” he draws in a steady breath and kisses Dongmyeong softly, eyes squeezing shut and speaking against the soft curl of his lips. “I mean that I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me to. I’d shed my divinity if you asked me to.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Even if you didn’t ask me to,” Harin whispers, measuring his words with another kiss, “I would still do it.”

It is another long while before Dongmyeong speaks again, breaths wet as they fan across his face, his lips parted and quivering, and Harin holds tighter onto him. When he speaks, it is but one word.

“Why?”

“Because I love you.” Harin says resolutely. “You are my stars and my sky, you are the tree I’ve rooted myself to. There will only ever be you for me.”

"You mean it? Truly?"

"Do I look like a liar to you?"

"No... No, you look like my lifelong lover, actually." Dongmyeong laughs wetly, and Harin can already see the corners of his eyes, red and swollen, brimming with unshed tears.

"I quite like that look on me." Harin whispers, tenderly caressing his cheek and wiping away his tears as they begin to fall.

Dongmyeong throws his weight onto him, arms looping around his body and crushing him to his chest, tears falling unbidden down the dried tear tracks that mar his face. He huffs a sharp bark of a laugh, just once, loud enough that it shakes the world awake, sending birds fluttering into the darkened sky. When they kiss, Harin tastes the salt of his tears, and they are sweet.

Hand in hand they go; past the cresting field that separates human from spirit, into the well-known and well-worn path Dongmyeong thunders down every spring, to the outskirts of the forest. Slowly, on swollen feet and weary souls, they walk towards their town. 

Harin is home.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think :) comments and kudos are well-loved, thank you!  
> also, you can find me on twt [@mechanicharin](https://twitter.com/mechanicharin)


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